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Sisällön tarjoaa Ann Perrin. Ann Perrin tai sen podcast-alustan kumppani lataa ja toimittaa kaiken podcast-sisällön, mukaan lukien jaksot, grafiikat ja podcast-kuvaukset. Jos uskot jonkun käyttävän tekijänoikeudella suojattua teostasi ilman lupaasi, voit seurata tässä https://fi.player.fm/legal kuvattua prosessia.
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Creative Success = Financial Balance with Flexible Budget Plans As a creative individual, dealing with irregular income can be daunting. In this episode of From "Creative Passion To Profit", titled "How Creatives Can Budget for Regular Income," I, Mahmood, tackle one of the biggest challenges faced by those in the arts and creative world—budgeting. Have you ever felt the high of being fully booked and having commissions flying off the shelves, only to be met with silence and income droughts the following month? You're not alone. But here's the good news: with a little planning, you can smooth out those financial ups and downs. In this episode, I'll share three simple steps to help you build a budgeting system that fits your lifestyle and supports your creative ambitions. You'll learn how to determine your essential baseline expenses, create a financial buffer for quiet months, and implement a flexible yet simple budgeting method that allows you to thrive creatively and financially. You'll also have some homework tasks... Timestamped Summary: [00:00:00] Introduction to challenges of budgeting with erratic income. [00:00:58] Step 1: Determine your baseline expenses. [00:02:12] Step 2: Build a financial buffer for quieter months. [00:03:46] Step 3: Apply a simple, discipline-based budget system. [00:04:58] Homework: Calculate baseline expenses and track income. Mentioned in this episode: Training Training Training Find out more about Budgetwhizz Find out more about Budgetwhizz Budgetwhizz…
Poetry by Ann Perrin - Poems read by the Author.
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Manage series 1125074
Sisällön tarjoaa Ann Perrin. Ann Perrin tai sen podcast-alustan kumppani lataa ja toimittaa kaiken podcast-sisällön, mukaan lukien jaksot, grafiikat ja podcast-kuvaukset. Jos uskot jonkun käyttävän tekijänoikeudella suojattua teostasi ilman lupaasi, voit seurata tässä https://fi.player.fm/legal kuvattua prosessia.
My poems are inspired by people, places, life, death, ageing and sometimes by my life as a puppeteer’s daughter. I write in a variety of styles but mainly free verse.
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17 jaksoa
Merkitse kaikki (ei-)toistetut ...
Manage series 1125074
Sisällön tarjoaa Ann Perrin. Ann Perrin tai sen podcast-alustan kumppani lataa ja toimittaa kaiken podcast-sisällön, mukaan lukien jaksot, grafiikat ja podcast-kuvaukset. Jos uskot jonkun käyttävän tekijänoikeudella suojattua teostasi ilman lupaasi, voit seurata tässä https://fi.player.fm/legal kuvattua prosessia.
My poems are inspired by people, places, life, death, ageing and sometimes by my life as a puppeteer’s daughter. I write in a variety of styles but mainly free verse.
…
continue reading
17 jaksoa
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×Please click on the link below to hear the podcast of this poem https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2016/02/012-theoleander-nh.mp3 The Oleander We found it in Albi, no gentle sketch but boldly painted bright and blowzy heady with scent, out for a good time. In London. loving the culture pink petals flirted with passers by revelled in attention posed for pictures. Uprooted to Brighton in a white fleece shroud it faltered leaves fell naked boughs mourned sensing life had passed. Two years later in a new pot on a south facing wall tiny green shoots emerge, pink blossoms show their party faces.…
I wrote the ‘The hole in the wall’ at an Arvon creative writing course at Totleigh Barton many years ago. A film I made earlier – I have always been attracted to dry stone walls. My grandfather had a stone wall in our built in our garden when I was a child. Grandmother had a serious back injury due to bomb damage on the house, so the only way she could manage the garden was to have a very long raised bed. Of course the art of dry stone walling is well documented and still carried out today. https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/theholeinthewall.mp3 The hole in the wall There is a garden I know with an old dry stone wall. I wonder who lives there, perhaps no one at all. Maybe a spider with spots brown and gold a mouse with a family to keep from the cold. A slithery snake could climb into the gap, a hedgehog curl up for a long winter nap. The hole is quite dark so I can’t really see but I think there are eyes staring right back at me. It could be a toad and this is his home or a safe place for snails until babies have grown. For bees it is handy because they like flowers, they could make lots of honey which takes hours and hours. But why not a dragon who blows fire and smoke or a home for a gnome and magical folk. A shifty black beetle runs past my nose, if I watch him quite carefully I’ll see where he goes. The floor is all earthy but I think I can see, spotty brown toadstools as far as can be. In the roof there’s a crack with a wee bit of light, where a ladybird likes to crawl up and take flight. Butterflies might want to hide from the rain, rest for a while and fly off again. There is a garden I know with an old dry stone wall I wonder who lives there, perhaps no one at all. A prototype of the book now published.…
My Garden – to listen to the podcast please click on link below https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/017-thegarden-nh.mp3 I could sit here in my garden all my waking hours simply entranced by the profusion of flowers. Clouds of blue wisteria float above my head, and Aquilegia pink and mauve frame where the birds are fed. Pansies almost tumble from my unruly pots, and spring bulbs left to sleep awhile obscure forget-me-nots. The cherry blossoms sprouting before the bluebells fade away and Roses gather all their strength to make a good display. The passion flower is teasing the ivy round the tree, Lily of the valley share their scent with me. So I sit in my garden, all my waking hours, simply entranced by the profusion of the flowers.…
To hear the introduction and Ann’s poem Picasso’s Model – please click on the arrow on the podcast below. https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/016-picassosmodel-nh.mp3 Picasso’s Model He watches me intently as though drawing a vase. I heat my iron once again, cover the handle with cloth and continue my labour. He can’t paint the music of my iron as it hisses with the heat or the movement of my body as I dance in my mind. Once I shared his bed and curled between these sheets feeling his hands on my smooth white breasts, his body firm against mine as we shared our passion into the night. Who lies in his studio now or shares his bed? I don’t ask. I am just a poor woman. and have nowhere else to go.…
Listen to Ann’s poem Moving on now – simply press the arrow on this latest post – https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/015-movingon-nh.mp3 This poem was written on the last day of a course at Arvon. Arvon run creative writing courses for all kinds of writing. The tutors are usually well known in their field as well as experienced facilitators for writing groups. Moving on Luggage abandoned in the hall and trains won’t wait for late departure. But here we sit lost in the dance of life. Mirrored in this tiny drama and willing it never to end. The heat of the fire lulls us into companionable silence. The flames leap and flare reminding us of past passion. Logs shift and fall but we are motionless. Showers of feathery dust and final embers fall away. We rise reluctantly to go and face our fond farewells. As if in a dream fading into uncertain futures.…
A poem about a neighbour in South London. He lived in a house beyond a high fence at the end of the garden and I never got to know him. Listen to Ann’s poem The Passing Season now – simply press the arrow on this latest post page – https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/007-thepassingseason.mp3 The Passing Season Hidden from view he hums deep resonant sounds of age and wisdom. My neighbour’s steady beat on wooden stakes marks time to his labour and his tune. I peer into my wintered pond for life, heavily pregnant newts glide in waiting. Bluebells challenge crocuses for their space buds of blossom spring from spiky branches. Ash tree seeds scatter in the wind, making space for waving fronds of green. Birds compete for feathers for their nests. The capricious sun hides its features. A silence falls on secret thoughts, as winter’s drama melts away at last.…
Listen to Ann’s poem Reconciliation now – simply press the arrow on this latest post page – https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/011-reconciliation-nh.mp3 Reconciliation Seeds take flight with the softest blow, on dandelion clocks you know. Forever? How long can that be? And who’s in charge of time. Tell me? Twin spirits drift and sometimes fly, but cannot separate or die. Distance is all in the mind, a word for space I think you’ll find. Alienation is a choice, but takes an angry tone of voice. Despite the walls, the gates, the locks, think of the seeds around that clock. They drift, they fly, they find some ground, and safely grow until they’re found.…
Listen to – Beachcombing – Ann’s latest podcast on her poetry site by pressing the link – https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/014-beachcombing.mp3 Beachcombing Where a solitary seagull flew hopeful of an unexpected catch an old man moved along the deserted seashore. Glancing skywards as if to ward off new invaders. He kept his gaze low, pausing then pouncing, hands sifting piles of slippery pebbles, “Makes a good walk” he called, digging to retrieve his bounty – two battered 20p coins. “Like poetry?” he called, I nodded so with one hand cupped to the side of his mouth, warding off competition from roar of the wind on the incoming tide he launched into a sonnet. I clapped respectfully as he continued to work the beach as a showman might, reaping his due rewards for such a powerful performance.…
Ann’s poetry podcast – Listen to the poem ‘ Don’t Throw the Daisies ‘ on Ann’s blog now – by clicking on link below – https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/010-dontthowawaythedaisies-nh.mp3 Don’t Throw Away the Daisies Thank you for passing the time with me. It’s so lonely waiting to die. Can’t tell you how angry I felt when you first appeared with fruit and flowers wittering on about sun and the seasons. I wanted to scream at you “I’m dying” Have you got the colouring book? One of your slightly better ideas. Silly really but I love doing them, reminds me of being little, using every crayon in the box. Mother and me at the kitchen table. Now when you do the flowers please don’t throw away the daisies although I know they are past their best. Could you do my nails? I often had a manicure when I was working it seems important that God should see I’ve tried my hardest. I love the oils, the scent of lavender challenging that mournful medical smell? Hold my hand, I’m feeling so very tired Deep rhythms overwhelm me creeping in on every side. My eyelids are amazing rainbows how very strange. Let’s say goodbye now – softly just in case I slip away.…
Listen to Blackpool Illuminations now by pressing the link below – https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/009-blackpoolilluminations.mp3 Our parents performed on The North Pier Blackpool with their elaborate Marionette Musical. We stayed in a a holiday summer flat on the front from June to October. Blackpool Illuminations How can we sleep, sleep with this din when all that is out there wants to come in? The windows ajar so the curtains are free, ripples of moonlight dance on the sea. A huge paddle steamer trundles along with thousands of lights it moves through the throng. It comes creeping along on the tracks of the tram cars all start hooting because there’s a jam. Songs from the old days are blaring out loud every so often they’re sung by the crowd. The brightest of colours, red, blue and green Flick on and off to highlight each scene. An enormous Mad Hatter is pouring some tea and pirates trap Lost Boys under a tree. Witches and wizards are busy with spells Goblins and fairies are living in wells. The boat is upon us and dazzles our eyes, We find ourselves falling like kites in the skies. On a giant helter-skelter we find ourselves slide We’re twisting and turning enjoying the ride. On candyfloss mountains we’ll bounce and we’ll jump On lollypop twisters we’ll land with a thump. We’ll spin round and round on pink and white twirls and sail the dark seas on liquorice swirls. We’ll stop and have tea that the Mad Hatter makes run after the knave who steals all the cakes. We’ll follow the piper who gets rid of the rats stroke the soft fur of the fairyland cats. The boat trundles on to the end of the track it’s lucky for us that it makes its way back. So we leave magic dragons and fish that can talk three little pigs who are out for a walk We pass by our window and take a great leap tired with excitement we soon fall asleep. Our sheets made of cotton have mud here and where to remind us at daybreak we really were there. The Puppethouse history blog please click on this link. https://puppethousemuseum.wordpress.com/ My main blog which is three years old https://wordpress.com/stats/annperrin.wordpress.com An award winning blog a ‘blog that brightens our day’…
Listen to The Salt Sea Winds now – by pressing on the link below. https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/005-thesaltseawinds-nh.mp3 Where salt sea winds make their eerie sounds and grey-green waves come crashing to the shore and water washed pebbles tumble from obscurity into an ever changing collage of muted colour High on the shore, a beached starfish lies rigid in the sun, greedy seagulls eat oysters, leaving empty shells abandoned. Bobbly brown seaweed mingles with ribbons of green. Chalky cuttlefish lie beside a shiny skate egg husk. One pebble, grey and white – with a gleam of light shining through its centre, a shape, strangely soothing. Rolled over in the palm of my hand its hard cold surface seems like a symbol of something mystic, other worldly.…
Listen to A Widow’s Weeds now – just press on the link below. https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/008-awidowsweeds.mp3 A Widow’s Weeds Mrs. Howell had always lived in the attic in her widows’ weeds. We children swore she wore them in bed and wondered how she managed up there without a lavatory. Once a month the coalman called with his horse and cart tumbled coal from a sooty bag into the tiny cupboard on landing. One day I sat on her stairs, listening to her fire fizz as she jabbed it with a poker. Shocked when she opened the door and said softly “Would you like to come in?” A tiny room with a high bed, a chest of drawers, a primus stove, a washstand, a shelf of little treasures. I looked up at the sloping window in the roof, all she had were clouds to keep her company. She showed me her pieces of seaside pottery, a photo of a man in uniform, a cut-glass dish pasted with a picture of Nigara Falls. I held the dish up to the skylight kaleidoscope colours danced around the room. I saw the warmth of her smile, heard the ripple of her laughter. But time had vanished, I had to go. Mrs Howell was wrapping a newspaper parcel wrapping and rolling. Rolling paper round and round I was doubtful but she insisted. Sixty years ago And I still have the glass dish The Falls are long gone but the kaleidoscope of colours remain and ripples of her laughter still dance in my mind.…
Listen to Ann’s poem The House in Highgate now – just press on the link below. https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/006-thehouseinhighgate.mp3 The House in Highgate Peter Pan had a lot to answer for! We were always sliding down the polished banisters and leaping off at the last minute in our everlasting efforts to fly. We spent half our lives on the stairs, creating stories about the paintings that hung from floor t ceiling in the hall. Listening to the chip-chip-chipping of the wood in father’s workshop, as he made his marionettes The whizz and whirr of mother’s Singer sewing seams for debutants dresses. Real boredom had us mimicking arguments outside auntie and uncles door. Mother would have had a fit is she had known as we rushed and locked ourselves in the lavatory. Auntie advanced demanding apologies. Too late, we were balanced on the pan and then leaping out of the tiny window into the security of the garden. How I loved that house.…
Listen to Ann’s poem Granny’s Corset now – just press on the link below. https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/01/003-grannyscorset-nh.mp3 Granny’s Corset Push open the door and enter her room with heavy beige wallpaper and brown gloss paint. Grandma, propped up with pillows, crisp white sheet, pure silk eiderdown, raises a frail hand in greeting. Time to cram her into her corset. I stagger from chair to bed, with the well washed cotton contraption. I am eight and grown up. I fasten the buckles, thread tapes, tug at cords, clip on suspenders, under her orderly instructions. I help her into her flowery frock, brush her hair, dab on some powder, pass her a mirror for her approval. A bomb damaged Grandma’s back but mother says she is indomitable. She glides down the staircase ready to organise the rest of the house.…
Listen to On The Fiddle now – just press on the link below. https://annperrinpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/004-onthefiddle.mp3 Playing the fiddle he walks the tight rope strung between two lamp posts. With over painted mouth and yellow hair dancing attendance his bow catches an uncertain sound drowned by the man with the band playing the blue tuba outside the Pavilion. He tempts and teases smiles down at passers by Later he waits for the bus catches his reflection in a window a painted smile and black crossed eyes stare back. In his tiny attic room the show is over his image melts in the mirror with Crows Cremine and Kleenex tissues. Time for a beer and to disappear!…
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